Until Cobi (Until Her/Him #7)(60)
“No.” I pout like a child who was forced to walk down the candy aisle at the grocery store and not pick anything up. “Seriously?”
“I’ll make it up to you.” He comes toward me, grabbing the face wipe out of my hand and tossing it to the counter. Then, with his hands on my hips, he walks me backward to the shower, stripping his shirt up and over my head. He opens the shower door, and as soon as we’re closed inside, his mouth covers mine and his fingers slide between my legs. Like he always does, he takes care of me, which means when he leaves me in the shower to get ready for work, I’ve had two really great orgasms and still have a smile on my face.
Chapter 17
Hadley
SITTING AT MY DESK Monday morning, I stare at my computer monitor in disbelief then pick up my phone and put it to my ear. I call my boss, not Marian. I call the actual owner of Giving Hearts, Scott Rosenblum. It rings and goes to voice mail, and I leave a short message with my name, asking him to call me back as soon as he has time to talk. When I place the phone back in its holder, I rub the bridge of my nose.
Last Friday, I received a phone call from another one of my families who had funds go missing. Funds they were planning on using to help with their child’s swimming fees. Knowing that Marian would give me the same runaround, I sent another letter to the company that takes care of the accounting, and this morning, I’m looking at almost the exact response I got before.
Dear Miss Emmerson,
Our records indicate that Check Number 2341 in
the amount of $222.45 was direct deposited on October 14th.
Please let us know if we can assist you further.
All the best.
This situation is really starting to frustrate me, and I can feel it in my gut that something is off. I look at the clock on the wall across the room and scoot away from my desk, opening the drawer where I keep my purse. I need to be across town in twenty minutes, which means I need to leave now. Thankfully, when I left Scott a message, I also gave him my cell number, and hopefully he calls me on that if he doesn’t reach me at the office.
I shut down my computer, grab my purse, and then leave for my car, saying goodbye to a few co-workers on my way out.
I make it to the McKays’ and park in their driveway, and as soon as I open my door, I hear kids laughing and shouting. I get out and slam my door, tucking my notebook and case file in my purse. It’s a Monday, but most of the schools are out for fall break, so the sound of kids being kids isn’t a surprise.
When I make it to the front door, and before I even have a chance to knock, it’s swung open and Liz smiles at me. “We’re in the kitchen making cookies.” Her smile lights up her eyes, and some of the tension in my shoulders dissipates seeing her happy and not heartbroken over her dad. I follow her into the two-story brick house, looking around as she hop-skips away.
I drop my bag on the bench near the front door that’s covered with backpacks, shoes, and random children paraphernalia, and then I shrug off my coat and hang it on one of the few unused hooks. Having been here before, I know that even though there’s clutter covering the coffee table in the living room, even though there is unopened mail on the entryway table, and dust gathering on some of the unused surfaces, the things that really matter are in place, organized, happy, healthy, and clean. This is the home of a family with children. A family who enjoys spending more time together than they do making sure everything is perfect and in its place.
When I hit the kitchen and see all the kids gathered there, relief and joy washes over me.
“If you’re quick, you might be able to get a cookie,” Sarah McKay says, smiling while using a spatula to lift freshly baked cookies off a pan. With another family, I might think this exact moment was staged, but with Sarah, I know it’s not; this is her life. This is who she is, the kind of mom she is.
“Thank you.” I take a cookie when Eric holds one out to me and then take a bite. “How have things been?” I ask after I chew and swallow.
“Crazy as always,” Sarah answers with a grin. Then she looks around at the kids in the kitchen. “Adult talk time, guys. Grab a cookie and head outside for a while.” All the kids groan but leave, grabbing cookies on their way outside. When the door closes behind the last one, Sarah pulls her eyes off the door and looks at me. “They’re happy. I know it’s been on your mind, but I promise you they’re happy here.” She looks away, picking up the cookie sheet, placing it in the sink, and turning the water on over it before looking at me. “Things at first were a little confusing after they found out their dad wasn’t coming back for a while, but they’ve both settled in and are coming to terms with things.”
Relief hits me hard, and I take a seat on one of the stools around her kitchen island. Mr. Shelp is going away for a few years, five to be exact, and it’s been difficult thinking that his children might have issues with their new normal, even if knowing they are better off now than they were when they were under his supervision.
“I’m glad to hear that,” I say quietly.
“They’re great kids, sweet kids.” She pulls in a breath. “I know they miss their daddy, but they’re both doing okay for right now.”
“I’m happy to hear that.” My response is instant. “If things change—”
“You know I’ll call you,” she cuts me off. “For now though, they are okay. They’re settling in.”